


Apotheosis

by PaisleyWraith



Series: Paisley's Deity [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, Very stylized writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaisleyWraith/pseuds/PaisleyWraith
Summary: In tales long forgotten a Barbarian Chieftain, under a moonless forest, is caught in the middle of a God's Banishment. The Heavens watch as a Celestial tries once again to ascend.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Series: Paisley's Deity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592665
Kudos: 12





	Apotheosis

In the midst of the Darkest part of the World lies the Wild Woodlands. Unlike the whispering moss-green forest floors of the West, unlike their soft-chipped bark and sunlight paths, the Wild Woodlands lay Untamed and Deadly. 

Rivers ran black with Poison, sending Victims sputtering on their own Blood and collapsing to the ground. Animals gored and Attacked Travelers unprovoked, or else ran rabid and foaming. 

The Land was Dark, bioluminescence stretched up trees and over logs as the only source that could touch the ground. Nothing Grew, nothing Lived, and the canopy of the thick trees blocked out every instance of the Sky. 

Unlike the velvet-and-gold clad Elves of the West, the People who lived in the Wild Woodlands were as Untamed and Deadly as their Home. 

Barefoot, stepping silently through bramble and wet mud, the People were often naked or else clad in Skins or woven Plant Life. Their skin was Marred with scars, rippling through muscle and sinew. Tattoos dark as the Woodland Waters striped the skin, leaving them indiscernible to the eye until the time they ripped out the throat. 

The Barbarians. Left Alone by the rest of the World, they are broken up into Tribes. They Fight each other to the Death on the occasion opposing Tribes cross Paths. Alliance is not the Barbarian Way. Those who anger them are doomed to Die, and those who enter the Woodlands never return. 

Calloused hands reach for a branch, dislodging wet, smelling bark as a Chieftain is caught mid-leap. Handstitched leather legs, swinging over the Woodland floor, lean muscles pull the figure up onto the tree. 

He is a boy, a Child, barely wretched from Puberty and his Old Tribe, a fresh-faced Youngling with sharp Eyes that pierce the Darkness of the Wilder Woods. 

Long, crooked fingers, broke and re-broken, scarred and striped, pick Nervously at the bark, sending chips tumbling to the ground. 

A patch is picked and held near chapped lips, a soft drag of breath testing the Earthiness and Age. 

It is well enough, long strips are pulled from the branch and shoved into a leather bag. Strings pulled to close. 

The Boy, the Wildman, the Chieftain, rests. Inhuman ears Listen, dirty fingernails jitter over tattooed cheeks. Something is amiss in the Wild Woodlands, the very Structure is Shaken, moans of Elder Trees and the souring of Dirt creating bitterness on a Wild tongue. 

Any Change is Disturbing to someone who Relies on the Stability of his world to remain Stable himself. He has been through Change enough. 

The Chieftain drops, clouds of dirt puffing silently from between bare toes. The woodened Bones of the Forest whip and cut at his feet as he runs, barely a whisper in the Wilder Woods. 

Something is Different. The thought comes again, like a swift punch, and the Boy stops mid-step and sits. Nothing is stirring, nothing is making noise, nothing is breathing so why are all of his Senses telling him to stop? To go back, to run, to save his life. 

The Fear floods his Mind, a mantra of screams and worry, something the Child grits his teeth against. He is a Chieftain now, and Strong, and to Cower would be showing Weakness worthy of Death. 

He pushes himself up against the tree and proceeds, chest nearly brushing the Woodland floor in his want to be Unseen. 

He steps only four feet more. Callouses brush moss. Once. Twice. Three. Four. 

And his senses are alight. 

His entire life has been spent under the canopy of Darkness. Tonight, the Cosmos are Open to him, Heaven reaching with clawed and ivory fingers. 

His arms reach to protect his face, Light rips through his sinuses regardless. The silken, silvery silvers of the farthest Stars pressing against his cheeks, dust of the Nebula pouring down his throat. He breathes the Gracious but Unknown Life of the Skies, assaulted in the Glorious bleeding Reality. 

It eases, the onslaught against him, and his chin lifts to the Sky. 

An eye of watering blue, an eye of blue bleeding tones of Earthiness, set in an Awed face staring into the face of Celestials. 

He can count each Star, each pinprick of light, each screaming rock across the depthless blue and an Omniscient and Glowing presence. He slowly reaches, crooked fingers trembling, in Want of brushing the cool and dusted surface of the Moon. 

And as it was Revealed to him, it is shut off, a snap like bones and he is left in Darkness again. 

He cries out, Begging, hands reaching like a Child for his Mother. In the Empty, Open Darkness he is Left, blinking away the streak across his vision. 

Another noise answers him, and his bow is drawn before another beat of his Heart. 

The string touches his cheek, is pulled away hastily to avoid his Blinded Tears. The jagged bone barbs are pointed correctly, towards the only other Figure for miles around. 

The Figure is Masculine in Portrayal, Unremarkable in medium skin, medium frame, medium looks, dark hair and light eyes. He is clad only in sheer fabric draped once, feet and arms bare.

No, there is nothing Remarkable in His appearance, but to a Barbarian who lives in Darkness, little of what you Know is what you can physically See.

Barbarians Worship no Gods. 

None are Above their own Chieftains, who are Worshipped in a similar fashion. And yet, something in the attuned, softly-knowing Mind of a Barbarian Understands what he is Seeing. 

He is Seeing Something that is Ascended. Something Beyond, Something that is Equal to his own standing. But it is Something he has never seen before. 

Something from the Cosmos. 

The Chieftain blinks Star-Dazzled eyes, jaw set, pulse jumping. 

Slowly, he lowers the bow, string easing, the barbs shifting away. 

The Other looks Surprised, in the eyes more than the face. Eyelashes lower, lips pressing. 

“Whereyoufrom?” The Barbarian speaks Common, not that he should know how, words pouring from his lips like vomit. 

The Other regards him warily, and the next words curl correctly around his Tongue. 

“Where are you from?” His words remain jerky, off-kilter, quick, but are structured in confidence. “Who are you?” 

The Man stares still, no Comprehension crossing His face. 

“Speak!” He draws his bow again, string brushing tattooed stripes of his face, Uncertainty pulsing through his blood. 

The Other says words, of a sort. Words Rumble through the ground, shuddering the Earth. 

The boy jerks away, turning his head against the Noise. Pained. It rings in his skull and he shakes it away. 

The Other does not look Apologetic. The Chieftain is sorely tempted to open his fingers, letting the string twang free and arrow soar. 

He does not. 

He would have, only seconds before, but for the Gracious view into the Universe. For someone who has never seen the Skies, not in all the years of Life watched a cloud or counted Stars, it is a first brush with another Reality. 

He closes his eyes, where normally he Fears to blink. His eyes still burn, aching, and water when next they open. 

His bow hangs at his side, arrow replaced in a quiver. He stands, Nervousness controlling his muscles. 

Twitchy, eyes Wild, but with the Surety of a God in his own right, he reaches again. 

Outstretched, broken fingers spread Inviting. Offering, something Barbarians do not. 

But the Boy has proven again, and again, that he is not Normal. For this he was to be Killed as a child but Tonight he is somehow Aware, he will not Die. 

He does not speak, only Offers, a hand reaching for the Universe. 

The Universe, as it did previous, reaches back.


End file.
